


An Unlikely Ally

by darklordriddle (marauderswagger)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Professor Tom Riddle, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tumblr Prompt, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauderswagger/pseuds/darklordriddle
Summary: (Tumblr prompt: Professor Riddle for Tomione?) Hermione finds solace in her new DADA professor, who has taken an unusual interest in his top student.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 48
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I got this as a prompt on Tumblr and it turned out much longer than I originally anticipated. This will be no more than five chapters, and will have smut by the end, so hang tight for that. Thank you for reading my writing, as always, and please let me know what you think in the comments!

“And, finally, we come down to our last order of business,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed across the Great Hall, demanding the attention of both students and professors alike. “Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—Professor Riddle.” 

A tall, handsome man stood from his seat beside Professor Snape. His dark curls framed his well-structured face, with a strong, chiseled jaw and wire rimmed glasses held up by a straight nose. He graced them all with a small smile—a smirk, really—and a brief flash of bright white teeth, waving before reclaiming his seat. 

“Blimey, he’s gorgeous,” Ginny breathed, emitting a huff from Harry. 

It seemed the entire Great Hall was in a tither about the new professor as whispers broke out amongst all the tables, Gryffindor included. 

“Would you _look_ at him?”

“Surely it’s illegal to look that good.”

“I’m sure he’d be a great shag—”

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat to regain the attention of the students, and a hush fell over the hall.

“Let the feast begin.”

* * *

Hermione rose from her seat, saying goodbye to her friends and gathering in front of the Professor’s table with the prefects as she called them to attention. 

“Please, prefects. Lead the first years to their dormitories. Our first meeting will be tomorrow night to establish rounds—Please meet Malfoy and I in the Head dormitory.”

With a nod and a smile she dismissed them, turning to Malfoy. 

“Seems we’ll be working closely this year,” She said, trying to keep her voice friendly.  
“Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours,” He sniffed, raising his nose and straightening his robes before stalking off to join his friends. 

“What an utter ponce.” She mumbled to herself, sighing and pushing an errant curl behind her ear.

She turned as she heard a deep chuckle, a blush blooming on her face at having been caught insulting the Head Boy the very first night.

“It maybe wasn’t Professor Dumbledore’s best idea to put a Gryffindor and Slytherin together for the year,” Professor Riddle said, low baritone like honey. 

“House prejudice is a thing of the past, so it’s really no issue. Malfoy and I will get along well enough.” She said, lying through her teeth. She was perfectly capable of handling Malfoy through whatever means necessary this year. “It’s nice to meet you, Professor. I’m Hermione Granger.” 

“Pleasure.” 

He looked her up and down, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest. She looked down at herself, trying to see just exactly what he was looking at. She was dressed in the standard uniform—a long sleeved, grey sweater covering a white oxford and regulation length pleated skirt, socks that fell just beneath her knees and a black outer robe. What could he possibly find wrong with her appearance? She shuffled anxiously, and he raised a dark, questioning eyebrow at her blatant nervousness. 

“Well, I should really get going—gotta keep the students in check,” She said quickly, stumbling over her words as they poured from her mouth.

“Right,” he murmured, amusement in his voice. “I’ll be seeing you, then, Miss Granger.” 

He gave her an odd look before she turned and walked away, heading out of the Great Hall towards her new dormitory.

* * *

“Not that your opinion matters here, _Malfoy_ , as I’ve already doled out the punishment, but please, _do_ continue to undermine my every decision as Head Girl,” Hermione hissed, clenching her fists closely to her side, wand held firmly in her right hand. 

“I’ve a right to weigh in when I feel things are being carried out unfairly, Granger,” Draco snarled back, his sharp tone complementary to his pointed, weasel-like features. 

The sixth year in question of punishment merely cowered between the two, watching as they volleyed insults and cruel words back and forth. 

“You don’t get to weigh in! He called me a _mudblood_ , for Merlin’s sake. I can take away as many points as I see fit!” 

“But _fifty_? That’s completely absurd—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what’s absurd, you absolute _weasel—”_

“Quarrel between the Head Boy and Head Girl?” A deep baritone interrupted, causing Hermione and Draco to turn quickly to see Professor Riddle approaching the pair, hands in the deep pockets of his trousers. “Certainly this can be resolved amiably.” The smirk gracing his face made her think back to their conversation the first night and cursed internally, having been caught in her lie about house prejudices only a month in.

“He’s trying to let someone from his house get away with using slurs! It’s blatant favoritism, Professor.” 

Draco’s ears reddened at her accusation and she narrowed her eyes at him even further, using everything she had to keep from hexing him on the spot. 

“Fifty points is _excessive_ , Professor. Completely unnecessary. She’s overreacting, as _usual_.” 

“That depends on the slur, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Riddle said, assessing the pair. “Well? Out with it, then. What was it?”

“He called me a—well—a mudblood, Professor.” Hermione admitted, annoyed that the term was still socially acceptable in any capacity to any person in existence. 

Professor Riddle let out a low whistle, eyebrows raising into his hairline.

“Fifty points is completely reasonable, then,” He agreed with Hermione, causing her to shoot a triumphant grin at Draco’s stupid, pointy face, “Not nearly enough, really. Detention with me for a week as well, Mr. Rosier.” 

Malfoy and Rosier’s mouths dropped in unison, and she couldn’t stop from laughing happily from the turn of events.

“Brilliant, Professor. Thank you.”

“Professor, _honestly—_ ”

“ _Honestly_ , Mr. Malfoy. For you to allow your Head Girl to be treated so poorly is a reflection on your character, and not a good one. I’ve half a mind to take points away from you as well. If you’re quite finished, I suggest you and Rosier scurry off before I decide to punish more severely.”

Malfoy promptly closed his mouth and nodded, his entire face now red at this point, a poor attempt at concealing his contempt for his DADA teacher. 

Hermione couldn’t have been happier as the pair wandered off down the corridor, turning a corner and effectively leaving her sight.

“Really, thank you, Professor,” Hermione said, pushing her curly hair behind her ear, having decided to leave it loose for the day and already finding herself annoyed with its incessant need to be in her way at all times. “I appreciate the back up.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Professor Riddle said, using that word again— _pleasure_ —and smiling crookedly, making her heart stutter in her chest. “I’ve always been willing to help fellow intellectuals.”

She blushed up her chest into her throat, making her uncomfortably warm as she shuffled from foot to foot. He simply stared at her, dark eyes seemingly analyzing her for _something_ , before he cleared his throat and ended his visual assault on her. 

“Yes, well. Back to it, I suppose. Miss Granger.” He nodded towards her before ambling off in the direction he came from rather than where he was previously heading.

Curious.

* * *

“Three feet on werewolves and their ostracization from society. Miss Granger, can you stay after class for a moment?”

The rest of the class began shuffling parchment and stuffing books into their satchels before heading out of the classroom, and she waited until the last student exited before approaching his desk at the front of the room.

“Yes, Professor?” She shifted the uncomfortably heavy satchel on her shoulder before deciding to drop it, not deeming it worthy to hold onto when she wasn’t going anywhere.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright after this morning’s debacle with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Rosier,” He said, looking up at her from his wire-rimmed glasses, concern interlacing with his features and softening them, making him look as though he could be her age rather than nearly ten years her senior. She could thank Lavender for the information, as she spent the majority of the first week investigating the handsome new professor and learning as much personal information about him as possible, and spreading it around to _everyone._

“Oh! I’m fine, Professor Riddle. This happens more often than you’d think.”

“I know,” He sighed, removing his glasses and tossing them on his desk, standing and pulling his arms behind his back, stretching. 

She tried adamantly to ignore his abdomen, aptly defined by his crisp oxford, as his muscles strained and were pulled taut. 

She swallowed, hard, and put all of her attention on his face. Not a safer place to look, really, as his perfectly-sculpted jawline was threatening to make her visibly pant. 

Bugger.

“Miss Granger?” A wry smirk stretched across his face, and she knew she had been caught staring. She cursed herself internally.

“Sorry, what was that, sir?” She stuttered out, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders.

“I said, if you should have problems with Malfoy, I’d like you to address them with me,” He addressed her firmly, locking eyes with her. “I don’t like his blatant disregard for your well-being.” 

“Malfoy will be Malfoy, I suppose. It’s always been like this. I get through it—most of the time, a well-placed hex does the trick.” 

“He’s a spoiled brat, Hermione. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

“I’m glad professors notice it just as well as students, then,” She huffed out a nervous laugh, not sure why the conversation was taking such a serious turn.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m here for you, Hermione,” He said, moving to the front of the desk to face her directly. She adjusted her neck to stare up at him, nearly being a head shorter than him. “I know the difficulties you can face being in the position that you’re in. I understand, and am willing to assist you in any way I can.”

“Th-thank you, Professor,” She replied in awe, never seeing a gentle side of her DADA professor before; he was always so stern and aloof, never sparing a second for anyone, often retreating to his office as soon as classes ended. It seemed like he didn’t want anything to do with his students, and this was a large change from his regular demeanor.

He stared at her again, eyes enveloping her and entrancing her, wiping her mind blank of any thought outside of the colour of his irises and how they were nearly as dark as the pupils. She was so close to him, their chests nearly touching, to the point that she could almost believe that his breathing was synchronized with hers. 

“Hermione, I—”

His interruption snapped her out of her trance and she took a step backwards, ending whatever spell he had cast over her.

“You..?”

“I believe you’re late for dinner,” He said, smiling softly, similarly distancing himself from her and raking a large hand through his black curls. 

“Bugger, you’re right!” 

She scrambled to grab her bag, weighing nearly a ton with all of the books she insisted on carrying around, and hoisted it onto her shoulder, shrinking her height as she hunched over. She heard him chuckle as she panicked quietly to herself. “Harry and Ron will think I’ve fallen down the stairs or something.”

“You better get to them quickly, then. Hurry off.” 

“Thanks again, Professor,” She said earnestly, pausing to give him a meaningful look. 

He merely nodded in response, turning away from her and returning to the paperwork at his desk.

* * *

Hermione was going to be late for breakfast. Again.

She rushed down the staircases as quickly as they would allow, their constant shuffling being an ever-growing thorn in her side; she didn’t have the patience for them to click into place, but wasn’t daring enough to attempt to even take one step without them securely held together. She tapped her foot impatiently at each level until she finally reached the ground floor, balancing her books unsteadily in her hands as she raced towards the Great Hall.

“Going somewhere, Granger?” A cruel voice called out, the person it belonged to shoulder checking her and sending both her and her books flying. She landed neatly on her face, knees scraping the ground, and cursed audibly. She scrambled to her knees, gathering her scattered papers and books, and glared up at the offending presence.

Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“Not sure why you’re always so concerned about my every move, Malfoy, but I was heading to breakfast—”

“I don’t particularly give a shit about you at all, mudblood,” He sneered, ear tips red as though the insinuation of him caring about her embarrassed him. 

“Again with the name-calling,” She sighed, rising to stand, leaving her books at her feet and reaching into her robe pocket, searching for her wand. “Don’t you have any better defense than calling me a mudblood?”

“It’s rare you get to see the actual mud leak from a mudblood,” He said to his friends, completely ignoring her jab. “But here we are, first-hand experience.” He motioned towards her knees that were dripping with blood, bleeding into her socks that fell just below her knees. 

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” She snarled, raising her wand to send him flying.

“Hermione?” She stopped mid-cast, looking around for the sound of her name, and her eyes fell on Professor Riddle, rushing towards the collection of students.

Crabbe and Goyle immediately held their hands up and backed away, leaving Malfoy to his devices, as Malfoy proceeded to look like he was going to shit his pants. 

“And what exactly is happening here?” Professor Riddle asked, accusatory tone directed towards the Slytherins. “You’re bleeding, Hermione.”

“Just passing each other, Professor,” Malfoy said, smoothing down his already greased back hair. “Hermione tripped and we stopped to help her collect her things.” He shot her a threatening look and she snorted.

“Is that so?” 

“No, it bloody well _isn’t—”_

“Enlighten me, then.”

“I was going to breakfast when this lovely trio decided to trip me, harass me, and whatever else they planned to do.”

“And you were just about to hex me! You saw her have her wand raised—”

“Enough.”

Professor Riddle held up his hand, effectively silencing the blond boy, and towered over him.

“I don’t know _what_ about you is so offended by Hermione—the fact that she’s muggleborn and is three times as intelligent as you, maybe?—but I’ve had _enough_.” He snarled, staring down Malfoy as he cowered backwards. “Detention. Two weeks. With me, in the forbidden forest. Feel free to tell daddy dearest of my plans.”

“Yes, Professor,” Malfoy gulped, nodding his understanding. 

“If I ever see you around Miss Granger again and you’re doing anything besides worshipping the ground she walks on, I’ll _personally_ ensure you never graduate from this school. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Brilliant.” Professor Riddle clapped him on the back, smiling grandly at the trio of Slytherins. “You’re dismissed.”

The boys scampered off and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief before wincing, only just noticing the pain in her knees.

“Oh, bugger all,” She groaned to herself. “I’m going to have to miss breakfast to get this cleaned up.” 

“Come on, I’ll take care of it. Just over here.” 

He led her down the corridor to an abandoned classroom, opening the door and allowing her to walk in first. He waved a hand and the room lit up, the lanterns coming to life and enveloping the room in brightness. 

“Come. Sit down.”

He pulled out a chair from a table and motioned for her to sit, and she did; he knelt before her, confidently grabbing onto her leg and sighed, gently waving his wand over her knee. A chilling sensation shot up her leg as he cast a healing spell, and she looked down, seeing that the cut on one knee was gone, blood left only in its wake. He cast a cleaning spell on both her knee and her socks and appraised his work before transferring his attention to her other leg.

“Thank you, Professor,” She breathed, relishing the fact he was still gently holding onto her calf, examining his handiwork. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Hermione,” He looked up at her over the rim of his glasses, his head still angled downwards. “Prejudices can run deep. You don’t deserve to be caught up in it.” 

“He said he could see the mud in my blood,” she admitted, chewing on her bottom lip.

She inhaled sharply as the grip on her calf tightened before he breathed deeply through his nose and let her go, straightening to stand and wiping his hands on his trousers, dusting them off.

“You’re worth twice as much as he could ever possibly amount to,” He growled, running a hand through his hair and turning away from her, his broad shoulders heaving as he breathed. “Someone needs to teach him his place.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll learn his lesson in detention with you.”

“I’ll make certain of it.” 

“I don’t mean to be rude, sir, as I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done,” She said, and he turned towards her with an odd look adorning his face. “But why do you care so much?”

He pushed his glasses further up his nose, something she noticed he did when he was thinking. 

“You’re a brilliant student, Hermione. The top of your class. I’d even say you’d rival me back when I was in school,” He chuckled, smirking at her before becoming serious again, “and I don’t like when people belittle you. I’m aware you’re quite capable, but I suppose I find a kindred soul in you.”

She blushed, heat trailing from her chest to her throat, red burning her cheeks. 

“I’m glad you think so highly of me, sir.”

“You deserve nothing less.” He approached her, holding his hand out to help her stand. Despite not needing the help, she wouldn’t turn down the attention from him, and grasped his hand firmly as she stood. She pretended she didn’t notice that he continued to hold her hand a few beats too long, his thumb running gently over the back before he abruptly let go, grimacing to himself.

What had she done wrong?

“Professor, I—”

“Tom. Call me Tom.”

“Tom, then. I—Well, I just—”

He chuckled, interrupting her. “I think it’s time you get to your first class, Hermione. I’ll write you a note for your tardiness.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, hair following the movement, and looked at her feet. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but her heart beat quickly, thumping against her ribcage so loudly she was certain he could hear. 

“My pleasure.” He smiled wryly at the now common-phrase he used in her presence.

He held the door open for her as she gathered her things, exiting promptly and feeling his eyes on her back as she left. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind reception to this story, and thank you to quitethesardonic for all the help <3

Hermione jerked awake, barely catching herself before her head slammed onto the heavy wooden table. She looked around the dark library, swearing to herself as she hurriedly gathered the parchment spread out in front of her, shoving them haphazardly into her satchel before returning the borrowed books to their appropriate places on the shelves. 

This had been happening a lot as of late; her falling asleep in the library, only to wake up to it being completely abandoned and the time being well-past curfew. It was her NEWT year, after all, and she spent all of her free time studying for the upcoming exams. Nevermind that they were months away—she _needed_ to be prepared if she wanted to get the highest marks, and she wouldn’t achieve that if she slacked off in her preparations. 

She hurried out into the corridor, casting a quick _lumos_ to better illuminate her path back to the Head dorms. Being Head Girl did have its perks, and the fact that nobody would question her wandering about the castle late at night was one of them. 

She stepped off the staircase, making to walk towards her dorm, when she nearly walked into a dark figure lurking about the corridor.

“Oi, what’re you doing out after hours?” She inquired authoritatively, jabbing her wand in their direction to get a good look at them.

“The same could be asked of you.”

“Oh! Professor! My apologies,” she blurted, lowering her wand that he was squinting at, the bright light far too jarring in comparison to the darkness of the castle. “I thought you were a student.” 

“Haven’t been for ten years, I’m afraid,” He said, raising a dark eyebrow. “Where are you returning from?” 

“The library. I was studying and managed to fall asleep.”

“You should be more careful. It’s hard to tell what you’ll find lurking around at night.” He said wryly, smirking. His eyes bore into her, nearly black in the poor lighting, and she squirmed under the attention. 

“Well, luckily, I stumbled upon you instead of anything particularly troublesome.” 

“Luckily indeed,” He murmured, adjusting his glasses on his nose, “Speaking of trouble—you needn’t worry about Malfoy anymore. His last detention was tonight, and I dare say he’s been set straight about his unjust treatment towards you.” 

“Is that so?” She asked, doubtful. She had dealt with Malfoy for nearly seven years; it was hard to believe anything about him was capable of changing at this point. 

“Do you doubt my capabilities as a Professor, Miss Granger?” He questioned, visibly irritated. His jaw clenched, the strain of it displayed in the rigidity of his neck. 

“Absolutely not. I doubt Malfoy more than anything.” 

“I said I’d look out for you, Hermione, and I meant it,” He took a step closer to her, looking down into her eyes with an intensity she couldn’t quite understand. “You’ve nothing to worry about when I’m around—I’m not one to make promises lightly.” 

She gulped, craning her neck to look up at him, their chests nearly touching. 

“I trust you, of course,” she said earnestly, and she meant it. Despite only knowing him for a short amount of time, he had displayed the most trustworthiness out of any of her professors. He was the only one to truly intervene when someone decided to use their prejudices against her. 

“That pleases me more than it should,” He admitted, so quietly she knew she wasn’t supposed to hear it, his lips barely moving. Her heart raced, thumping rhythmically in her chest and threatening to jump out at any moment. 

“I’m happy to please you, sir,” She said, nearly smacking her hand into her forehead on the spot as the words spilled from her mouth. She thought for certain she would drown in the embarrassment swimming around her head. 

“Is that so?” He quirked his lips, leaning more closely to her, their lips inches from touching. “How would you like to please me, Hermione?” He breathed, the smell of cinnamon overwhelming her senses and causing her eyes to flutter. She felt warmth pool in her abdomen at the way his voice dropped, a husky sound that sent shivers throughout her body. 

“P-pardon me, Professor?” She stuttered, dropping her satchel and stumbling backwards as he followed her, her back hitting the stone wall. She found relief in the coldness of the stone in comparison to the heat coursing through her body—but the relief was short lived when he placed his hands beside her head, effectively caging her, and leaning over her, his head dipping to keep his face close to hers. 

“I thought I told you to call me Tom,” he corrected, tutting. “Not good at following directions tonight, are we, Hermione? Avoiding my questions, using my incorrect name. What are we going to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” She panted, breathing sporadically, unsure if she would ever properly catch her breath with him this close to her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; all she could do was look helplessly into his dark eyes that seemingly pinned her to the spot. “What are we going to do?”

He chuckled, deep and throaty, as he pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. 

“What do you want me to do, Hermione? Be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I want you to kiss me.” Her thoughts came rushing from her mouth, impurities that she couldn’t fight back any longer; she was practically panting with want, her chest heaving and her cheeks colouring red. He stared at her for a moment, eyes searching for something in her, and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing, when his lips came crashing down upon hers roughly. 

She let out an errant moan, the unexpected collision between the two igniting something inside her as she fisted her hands in his curls, happily surprised by the softness she found. His lips moved against hers, his tongue flicking out against her lower lip before he bit down, gently at first, then more firmly, causing her to gasp and him to take advantage of it, deepening the kiss and pulling her closer.

His hands moved to her hips, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his length straining against his trousers as he pressed into her, rocking his hips and eliciting another soft moan from Hermione. 

“Do you want me to touch you, Hermione?” He whispered into her ear, husky and deep, before beginning to trail kisses down her jawline. 

“Please, Tom,” She gasped out, breathless, head leaning firmly against the wall as she angled herself to give him better access.

He simply nodded, continuing his trail down to her neck, peppering kisses and gentle bites as his right hand reached up under her pleated skirt, traveling up her thigh and coming to a stop at her cotton knickers. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, stopping his assault of kisses to look her in the eyes, his glasses fogged from the heat of their interaction. 

“Yes, please,” She mewled, unfamiliar with her voice at the moment. When had she ever sounded so desperate?

She groaned as his fingers pushed aside her knickers, gently petting her wet entrance, her hips bucking forward involuntarily at the contact. 

He smirked into her neck and pushed further, his thumb circling her clit and finger delving into her folds. She saw stars in her eyes at the sensation, clinging desperately to his shoulders for life and moving her hips in time with his thrusts. 

“You’re doing so well, Hermione,” He purred, and she thought she would die from the sound; he was encouraging her as he touched her, and heat blossomed in her chest at the praise. “You’re taking my finger perfectly. Can you handle another?”

She merely nodded, distrusting of her voice, and moaned loud enough that he covered her mouth when he inserted another finger, thrusting in and out, continuing the assault on her clit all the while. 

“Shhhh. You don’t want anyone to see us like this, do you? Be quiet, love,” He instructed, forehead resting on her shoulder. She turned her head to his neck, choosing to mumble nonsense into him instead; he didn’t seem to mind, as he groaned whenever she quietly swore to herself.

“Tom, I’m so close,” She gasped, feeling the building in her abdomen grow by the second.

“I want you to come for me, Hermione,” He said, very seriously, as he began pumping his fingers more quickly. “Can you do that, love? Come for me.”

His words sent her over the edge, her walls closing around his fingers sporadically as she came, stars bursting in her eyes and her head swimming in nothingness. 

Tom sat her feet back on the floor after she was done, smoothing her skirt down for her and adjusting his trousers, grimacing at the friction. He took his glasses off, cleaned them on his shirt, and returned them onto his nose.

“Tom, that was—”

“Probably a mistake,” He said honestly, raking a hand through his hair. “But worth it, I think.” He adjusted his oxford, attempting to remove some of the wrinkles from where she had clung to him, a sign of her desperation. She felt a blush form up her throat.

“I’m glad you think so, too,” She said honestly, absentmindedly fussing with her hair, certain it was out of sorts. 

He stared at her for another moment, eyebrows furrowed, almost as though he were confused as to why he was there. 

“Yes. Well," He cleared his throat, gently shaking his head. "Head to bed, Miss Granger. I’ll see you for class in the morning.” The authority returned to his voice, much more reminiscent of the professor she was used to, and she found herself straightening up, nodding her understanding. “We’ll discuss.. This.. Later.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, gathering her satchel and heading towards her dormitory. She felt his eyes on her until she disappeared around the corner, and thought about them as she fell into bed.


End file.
